


Fhe Fiddle 
ANi> The Bow 




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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



The Fiddle and The Bow 



The Fiddle 

and The Bow 



BY 

ANSON EVANS, 



TELL CITY, IND. 

F. A. EVANS, PUBLISHER. 

1903. 



THE LIBRARY Of 
CONGRESS, I 

CLA558 a. VX« No. 






Copyright 1903 by Anson Evans. 



Press of 

The Keller Printing: and Tublishing Co. 

Evansville, Ind. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

An Old Time Tune 13 

An Old Violin 15 

Aholah 17 

Arabis 62 

After the Storm 42 

Aufwiedersehn 58 

Bumptown Pike, The 87 

Bye-Lo-Town. 84 

Cuddledownville 85 

Chanson 38 

Call of the Quail, The 51 

Christmas Eve Sketch, A 60 

Dinah .... 25 

Dead Century, The 29 

Delilah 30 

Dead Flower, The 59 

Farmer's Daughter, The 49 

Finale 93 

Good Morning, Sweetheart 21 

Geneva 53 

Hoosier Byrd, To a 74 

Indiana 67 

It Don't Seem Like the Same Old Place 71 

John Gilbert Shanklin • • 73 

Landof the Long Ago, The 32 

Labor Lyric 34 

Lyric 46 

Lady from Lapland, The 90 

Maid and the Rose, The 54 

Maid of Bellvidere, The 39 

Madrigal 20 



PAGE 

November 56 

Princess Googlygoo 80 

Pat-a-Cake 81 

Rosebud, To a 45 

Rough Hands 66 

Song of the Field Sparrow 22 

Sarah Ellen 36 

Silent Bell, The 43 

Sweetheart, to You 47 

Sans Facon 65 

Sweet Little Lady, The 89 

Slumber Song 92 

Three Little Monkeys 79 

Wren's Song, The 35 

With Thee 48 

When Julia Smiles 64 

When Jim Comes Home at Night 68 

When the Trees are Green 70 

Wink-a-Way Land 82 



A stroller wandering on the street 
In a strange city chanced to m^ett 

An old musician, bronzed and bent, 
But full of fruitful merriment. 

He heard the children shout with glee 

At the old minstrel's melody; 
And as the strains stirred in his breast 
He was a youngster with the rest. 

O reader of these simple rhymes^ 
I pray the soothing strain sometimes 

That issues from^ the fiddle's breast 
May wake a chord in you , my guest. 



The Fiddle and The Bow 



AN OLD TIME TUNE. 



IKE a breath of balmy June 
On life's languid afternoon 
Fell the fiddler's old-time tune. 



And a picture, curtain-wise, 
Of fair fields and sunny skies, 
Lay before the listener's eyes. 

And again he was a free, 
Sprightly urchin as could be. 
Sprawling 'neath an apple tree. 

Where the clover-blooms distill 
Their sweet savor, he at will 
Builded castles in Castile. 



And once more he smelt the sweet 
Scented perfume of the wheat 
Wind like sea waves at his feet. 

And the bees sang in the flowers, 
But their songs were not as hers — 
Sweet and soft as dulcimers. 



13 



And upon a sloping hill, 
With a rapture and a thrill. 
He beheld the cottage still. 

And he saw the sagging gate 
Where a lover lingered late, 
Pleading love impassionate. 



And he fondly held her small. 
Dainty, dimpled hand in thrall, 
Breathing words most musical. 



While he felt her fervent lips 
Lie upon his own like slips 
Of ripe comb where honey drips. 

Then the scene changed to a gray, 
Murky afternoon in May, 
And he walked an ivied way. 



Through the city of the dead. 
By her newly shapen bed, 
With a bowed, uncovered head. 



AN OLD VIOLIN. 



RELIC of days of pain and pleasure, 
Seasons of hope no heart can meausure, 
Filled with fancy, but fraught with fears; 
Under thy dark and dust-dimmed covers. 
Like a tremulous tear there hovers 
The soft sweet tones of other years — 



Years of youth by green seas girted, 

And clay-tiled cots by smooth swards skirted, 

And canopied with clustering vine; 
Places of peace where homes are quiet, 
Streets of song and revel and riot. 

In days departed have been thine. 



Here, on thy faded old face, lingers 
The dainty mark of her dimpled fingers, 

And here her white throat played a part; 
And here, where polished pearls are vested, 
Her shapely chin supinely rested, 

As once she held thee against her heart. 



15 



She played, and people paused and listened; 
She played and smiled, while teardrops glistened 

Under the fringe of her dusk-brown eyes; 
Unmindful of the noise around her, 
Insensate of the scenes that bound her, 

She only saw her Southern skies, 

Beneath whose blue her lover tarried, 
While she by helplessness was harried, 

A stroller by strange inland seas; 
Believing that he was belated 
By wind and wave, she wept and waited, 

And prayed, and played her melodies. 



Until her flower-like fingers faltered. 
And want her form and features altered. 

And all sweet strength had ceased within: 
They found her then, a dead, wan blossom. 
But proudly prest to her barren bosom 

This old, beloved violin. 




16 



AHOLAH. 



HHOLAH, thou hadst comely parts; 
Thy form was fair to look upon; 
Thy homage was in all men's hearts, 
On thy fair brow God's beauty shone. 
Thy face, without a flaw or fleck. 
Was fairest in all Amalek. 

God gave thee garments that were fair 
With many soft embroideries, 

And pearls to ornament thy hair 
Seined from the Oriental seas; 

And food to keep thy body well. 

Both dainty and desirable. 

Thy footsteps were as music is, 
Ay, as the sackbut's soft, low sound; 

Thy mouth was fashioned for a kiss 
With broken little laughs around; 

Thy neck a white sail on the sea, 

And fairer than fair ivory. 



17 



The south winds nestled in thy hair 
"With scent of spice and myrrh therein, 

And all the soft Assyrian air 
Drew dimples in thy downy skin. 

Thy voice was as a whispering breeze, 

Well suited to soft psalteries. 

The sweet smell of thy breast was as 
The grape-flowers on Engedi's walls, 

Where men of goodly raiment pass 
To feast at the rich festivals; 

And cells of love were thy red lips 

Whereout the choicest honey drips. 

Thy throat was a white singing bird, 

Low cooing in the cedar tree; 
But the fires that in thy bosom burned 

Made in the end a spoil of thee. 
Thy raiment was as Sharon's rose. 
Whereon the south wind softly blows. 

Yea, thou hadst all things happily — 
Armlets and anklets of pure gold, 

And rings for fingers well to see. 
And gems of priceless wealth untold; 

But lust did lash thee with desire, 

Whereat thy lewd blood burned as fire. 

With painted eyes and jeweled brows 
Thou safest upon a stately bed, 

And in the chambers of thy house 
A sumptuous table thou didst spread, 

Whereon were viands very fine 

And cunning vintage of the vine. 



strange men in gorgeous garb there came 
And fawned upon and flattered thee, 

Whereat thy longings, fanned to flame. 
Beat in thy blood most violently, 

Until no force of frozen rains 

Could cool the yearnings of thy veins 

Yea, thou, Aholah, thou didst make 

A bed of green with Sabeans, 
And bruised thy bosom for their sake 

Until thy name was in all lands; 
Therefore, for this, as God hath sain, 
Thou Shalt be stripped and stoned and slain. 

Strong men well girdled shall seize thee 
And strip thee of thy gay attire, 

And cut and carve thee furiously. 
And burn thy breasts with brands of fire. 

And thou, Aholah, thou shalt be 

As waste washed over by the sea. 




w 



MADRIGAL. 



W-— EART of my hope, did you love me much- 
W^% One millionth as much as I love you, 
-* ' Then lips that tingle and thrill at a touch 

Would hurdle with honey and grow into 
One long sweet linger of lush as such, 

And love do all that love can do. 

Sweet of my soul, as I sit at your feet 
Caressing and kissing your beautiful hair, 

I draw you to me and hold you, sweet, 
My own warm breast to yours so fair; 

Sweet life to feel your warm heart beat, 
And feel you lovingly nestle there! 

Light of my life I will hold you still, 
While you slay me, sweet, with love's desire; 

I will drink Love's wine 'till I have my fill. 
Though dusk begin and dark retire. 

Star of my sky, could sweet love kill 
Then ah, too soon I would expire! 



20 



GOOD MORNING. SWEETHEART. 



600D morning, sweetheart, 
With a rose in your hair! 
There's a breath of sweet flowers 
Afloat on the air; 
There's a song in the brooklet 

That babbles so clear — 
Good morning, sweetheart, 
With a rose in your hair! 

Good morning, sweetheart, 

With a light in your eyes 
As soft as the twilight 

That dimples the skies! 
There's a stain on your lips 

That the strawberry vies — 
Good morning, sweetheart, 

With a light in your eyes! 

Good morning, sweetheart. 

With the blushes of June! 
There's a mist on the meadows 

Where the wild-flowers are strewn — 
Catch hands and touch lips 

While hearts are atune — 
Good morning, sweetheart. 

With the blushes of June! 



21 



SONG OF THE FIELD-SPARROW. 



IS AW him at morn in the sun-kissed field 
Atop of a swinging reed, 
And I stopped to listen while he sang to me, 
And sweet was his song indeed. 
No fancy trills nor fitful flights 

Burdened his beautiful lay. 
His heart was light and he caroled of love 

In his own sweet, simple way: 
"Fe-o, fe-o, fe-o! few, few, few! fee, fee, fee!" 
"Fe-o, fe-o, fe-o! few, few, few! fee, fee, fee!" 

Again at eve from a fruit-decked briar 

He violed his vesper song. 
And the languid air seemed laden with life, 

As his notes rang clear and strong. 
He sang of the flowering fields so fair, 

He sang of love so sweet, 
He sang of his home and the dear ones there 

In the nest so snug and neat: 
"Fe-o, fe-o, fe-o! few, few, few! fee, fee, fee!" 
"Fe-a, fe-o, fe-o! few, few, few! fee, fee, fee!" 



22 



DINAH 



DINAH. 



Vide Grenesis, Chapter xxxiv. 

PAUSE here awhile! for my faint, faltering 
feet 
May not a pace more measure on the road; 
My sandals sear me with a sullen heat, 
And my soul sickens with its stifling load. 

Leave me alone! God wot my grief is great, 
And yet no tears to my entreaties flow; 

My eyes are laden with a leaden weight 
And four-fold hotter than the ember's glow. 



Behold now how my puny hands are prone 
To feel as feverless as the winter's sleet; 

And yet Prince Shechen held them in his own 
And covered them with many kisses sweet. 



God wot my ears were as a willing cup 

That caught and caroled all his winsome words, 

And every tender tone they treasured up 
As one may treasure the sweet song of birds. 



25 



Ah God, he was my life, my lord, my love! 

His mouth upon mine own waxed amorous 
And clove and clung till the sweet ways thereof 

Were as the ways of lips luxurious 

Wherein we lie with eyelids closely drawn 
Love-locked and feel how sweet a thing it is 

To match and mate our mouths unti^ the dawn, 
With lips that linger for another kiss. 

He was both good and gracious; his sweet smiles 
Unbound the brow of grievous heaviness; 

Nor did he woo me with deceptive wiles, 
Or base or boastful, vile or meaningless. 



The soft, sweet breathings of his words were as 
The breath of April on the lips of May, 

Yea, as the leaf which autumn's heart-beat has 
Touched faintly as the twilight fell away. 



Would God my blood were dew to feed the flowers 
That fade and famish on the desert side! 

I faint and fall with fume of barren bowers, 
Where love and laughter lately did abide. 

Would God that sleep, with soft and subtle hand. 
Would drain the wine of death upon my lips; 

Would God that death would break and burst the 
band 
That holds my life with languid finger tips. 

Yea, if the earth-clods did but cover me 
As a high hedge above my barren breast. 



I wish my hf^arl that, heaves so heavily 

Would cease to pulsate where his warm lips 
prest. 

The foul, faint night air feeds upon my hreath 
And in my soul there is no sense of sleep; 

The desert shadows speak to me of death, 
But to my dry lids no soft tear-drops leap. 

Lo, I have sucked the outer leaves of love 
Till waxed the wine-hued inner petals pale, 

Albeit briefly was the space therof 
As is the telling of an idle tale. 

Behold my love that made my heart rejoice 
A butf;hered victim mangled at my feet; 

Sweet as the murmuring waters was his voice, 
Yea. as the brook of Bethel sweet was it. 



Jehovah, see! that fair form cut in twain 
By cruel hands for the sweet sin of love; 

And curse the creed that caused the fiendish stain. 
For he did offer noble gifts enough; 

Flock and fruit of all the field about. 

And wool and wheat and linen and large land, 
And choice of cattle, supple-limbed and stout, 

And pick of pasture rich on either hand. 

Yea, precious coin and rich reserves of love 
He did lay as an offering at my feet; 

Spice and spiknard certainly enough. 
But to my tribe no troth of his was sweet. 



27 



There is a fruit that flowers in every land 
Whose taste once taken men are loath to quit. 

And handling leaves a red stain on the hand, 
Nathless we crush and drink the dregs of it. 

Yea, with light laughter lording over all 
Men find a halcyon in the heart of hell. 

They making their fellows blood a festival 
And lick their lips with taste insatiable. 

And dazed between a dream and a desire 
They still indulge the ruinous repast. 

Nor find till fades the plague-promoting fire 
The truth — the long-neglected truth — at last: 

Our fame is naught but baubles blown of blood; 

Our creeds are built on bigotry and blame; 
We brave the battle and we stem the flood 

To gild our gravestones and embalm a name. 



28 



THE DEAD CENTURY. 



€IE tenderly a bow of black upon the door 
Of the paie century that has passed away. 
Great in growth and in fame grown gray; 
Of wares and wealth he left stupendous store. 
Dip deep the pen within the ink before 
His worth has waned and reverently repay 
To the departed one an elegy. 
For his fame merits all our praise, and more! 
Here lies beneath the lid of other years 

The XlXth Century, great of goodly parts, 
A crawling babe grown to a giant brave: 
He well deserves a tribute of the tears 

That well-up warmly from his children's hearts, 
And all fair flowers we place upon his grave! 



29 



DELILAH. 



7fW HY didst thou, Delilah, make 
^^^^ With many subtle arts a snare 
Wherein thy love and lord to take 
And rob him of his rugged hair, 
And all his brawny strength lay bare? 

Thou hadst much reason to rejoice; 
Thy raiment was as ripened fruit; 

The sweet sounds of thy Syrian voice 
Were as the lilting of a lute, 
Or winds blown softly in a flute. 

Thy face had neither flaw nor fleck, 
But like a perfect rose it was; 

God, making lilies, made thy neck, 
That men beholding might well pause 
In wonder at his perfect laws. 



Thy hair was as washed wands of gold, 
And wound and woven cunningly; 

Thy breast was as two swans that hold 
Their white wings folded peacefully 
When floating on a calm, clear sea. 



30 



Thy carved lips made a dainty cup 
For thy lord's lips to drink and drain; 

Thy languid lids when lifted up 
Let out sly glances soft as rain 
That patters on the window pane. 

Thy shapely shoulders were more fair 
Than dreaming artists could devise; 

The scent of flowers lay on thy hair, 
The light of love illumed thine eyes, 
Whose color were as April skies. 

But thou, Delilah, wast perverse. 
And loved the lords of Philistea, 

With ways unworthy to rehearse, 
Thou didst lay schemes most subtly 
Till Sorek had none skilled as thee. 



Thou heldst thy lord's head on thy knee 
With warm soft dimpled arms about. 

And fed him with sweet flattery, 
The while thy ripe lips in a pout 
Till thou didst draw his secrets out. 



Thou didst make merry with his foes, 
The while thou held his life in thrall 

And laughed light-hearted at his woes; 
Nor force nor favor couldi forestall 
Thy sea of desires insatiable. 



31 



THE LAND OF THE LONG AGO. 



XKNOW a land, a beautiful land 
Where shimmering streamlets flow 
Through gorgeous groves and flowering fields- 
'Tis the Land of the Long Ago! 
Oh, the wayward ways of this wonderful land, 

With its revels of riotous mirth! 

And its easy, breezy seasons of calm 

Is the pleasantest place on earth. 

The boundary lines of this beautiful land 

Begin with a baby's coo — 
A nod at the north, a smile at the south. 

At the west a boy's halloo! 
We enter the land in a calico coach, 

The grandest on earth, I know. 
For we sometimes sigh for that ride again 

In the Land of Long Ago. 

Oh, the tidy towns that lie in that land! 

They set one's head awhirl! 
Theres Rock-a-Bye Town, and Dreamyville,' 

And the Town with the Golden Curl; 
And Yellaway, on Big-Eye Bay, 

Where the fairest waters flow — 
-Ah, theres' no such towns as those back there 

In the Land of Long Ago! 



Oh, the low, soft lilting from loved lips 

That are lulled in that beautiful land, 
Are a dreamy gleam and a bloom and a balm 

And a coo and a carol grand! 
And no such fragrant flowers and fruits 

Can elsewhere ever grow 
As bud and blossom, bend and burst 

In the Land of Long Ago! 




32 



LABOR LYRIC. 



IF LOVE were queen of labor, 
And souls were full of song, 
Then music's merry measure 
Would thrill the pulse with pleasure, 
Nor scimitar nor saber 

Would smite the toiling throng; 
If love were queen of labor 
And souls were full of song. 

If love were labor's master. 
And knaves did not despoil, 

There'd be no tears nor treasons, 

No sad and starving seasons, 

No dark days of disaster. 
No unrequited toil; 

If love were labor's master 
And knaves did not despoil. 



34 



THE WREN'S SONG. 



fROM dawn till dusk a dainty song 
Drifts o'er the dimpled fields, 
And each full note that floats along 
The sweetest pleasure yields; 
As glad as April when she feels 
The joyous kiss of May 
His subtle cadence softly steals — 

And this his roundelay: 
You, Peter! You, Peter! You, Peter! Sweetheart! 

Sweetheart! 
Pick another! Pick another! Pick another! Sweet- 
heart! Sweetheart! 

Sing on, my Carolina wren. 

Your notes are full of cheer! 
No heartier song is heard within 

The compass of the year. 
Sing on, poet, none I know 

Can lilt a sweeter lay, 
Nor charm us with their carols so 
As your rich roundelay: 
You, Peter! You, Peter! You, Peter! Sweetheart! 

Sweetheart! 
Pick another! Pick another! Pick another! Sweet- 
heart! Sweetheart! 



35 



SARAH ELLEN. 



€HE languid air is laden with the odor of the 
roses, 
The burly bees are busy in the tassels of 
corn, 
And down the pasture pathway, where the placid 
pool reposes, 
A man and a maid are wooing in the musk of 
early morn. 
The dewdrops flash their diamonds on the fingers 
of the clover, 
A haze of floating amber hangs upon the distant 
hill. 
While from a little window, where wild gourd 
vines clamor over, 
A voice of pent-up anger is calling with a will: 
"Sarah Ellen! Oh, Sarah Ellen! 
De hogs am in de gyarden! 
Whah's dat no 'count niggah, I'd lak to know?" 



A double row of hollyhocks aligns to form an alley, 
Down-dipping from the dcor-steps to the dust- 
disheveled road; 
Below the hay-sweet meadow-patch spreading wid- 
ening down the valley, 
And on its sward the harvesters are winnowing 
up a load. 

36 



For half an hour beside the bars the cows have 
been neglected, 
The pail is hanging up-side down upon the pick- 
et fence, 
The voice that's calling from the hut is sadly dis- 
respected, 
And yet the tones are growing lounder, longer, 
more intense: 
"Sarah Ellen! Oh, Sarah Ellen! 
De hogs am in de gyarden! 
Whah's dat no 'count niggah, I'd lak to know?" 



Higher up the saffron sky the sun is slowly steam- 
ing, 
The trush trills gayly from a tree far down upon 
the creek; 
The honeysuckle avenues with insect life are team- 
ing, 
And from the cups the humming birds their 
morning nectar seek. 
Far down the sun-besprinkled road beyond the 
greening pasture 
Astride a bag of corn the boy is riding toward 
the mill, 
And still the lovers bill and coo, unmindful of dis- 
aster, 
And still the voice is calling with an energetic 
will: 
"Sarah Ellen! Oh, Sarah Ellen! 
De hogs am in de gyarden! 
Whah's dat no 'count niggah, I'd lak to know?" 



37 



CHANSON. 



BLUE be the skies above you, 
And rich with radiant light — 
Star of my sky, I love you! 
My darling and delight! 

Green be the fields about you. 

And smooth each shimmering space- 
Light of my life, without you 
This world's a dreary place. 

Fair be the heath and heather 
O'er which your feet may run — 

Sweet of my soul, together 
Our hearts shall beat as one! 

Soft be the breeze that kisses 
The roses on your cheek — 

Heart of my hope, what bliss is 
In the sweet love I seek! 



THE MAID OF BELLVIDERE. 



ON THE hilltops crowned with splendor. 
Fell the twilight soft and tender. 
And the gloaming hung in hazy shadows 
o'er the distant mere; 
While above the dim blue arches 
Stars took up their silent marches, 
Lightly sheding rays of amber on the town of 
Bellvidere. 



Down the valley half surrounded 
By wild hazels, gayly bounded 
Sylvan streams all moss-embroidered, singing soft 
their mystic cheer; 
While up the path where dangled over 
Heads of clustering crimson clover 
Homeward driving lowing cattle tript the maid of 
Bellvidere. 



Oh, so clear the cowbells jingled, 
With the maiden's voice commingled 
Making music that enraptured with its soul in- 
spiring air; 
Keeping time to her sweet singing 
She a Gipsy hat was swinging 
From a hand not one more dimpled in the town 
of Bellvidere. 



39 



Her eyes were like twin dewdrops gleaming, 
FtiU of mirth and shyness beaming — 
Chloe's not darker or more 'witching than to me 
they did appear; 
And her cheeks were running over 
With the tintings of the clover 
That toyed and kissed the pretty ankles of the 
maid of Bellvidere. 



And her feet as she went tripping 
Fell as lightly as the dripping 
Of the dewdrops from the tassels of the corn a 
growing near; 
And her lips they seemed awaiting 
Like two rosebuds for a mating, 
And her teeth no pearls could equal in the town of 
Bellvidere. 



All the birds had hushed their prattle, 
And the bees had ceased to battle 
For the honey-blended provend that would be their 
winter's cheer; 
While the fire-flies on the meadows 
Were disporting with the shadows 
That fell upon and folded in the town of Bellvi- 
dere. 



From across the distant mountain 
Like some tinkling silvery fountain, 
Came the low melodious winding of some bugler's 
note so clear; 
Shy and coyish was our meeting — 
Scarcely stopt we for a greeting — 
But I left my heart close clinging to those lips at 
Bellvidere! 



40 



ENVOI. 

That was in the dim, gray distance, 
Of the past of my existence 
Ere the chilling frosts of Time had made my leaf- 
lets sear; 
Yet among my memory's pages, 
Dimmed, as 'twere, by dust of ages, 
I find a deep, fond love recorded for the maid of 
Bellvidere. 




41 



AFTER THE STORM. 



HE winds sighed softly through, the trees, 

Blue bent the skies all over; 
The stars sailed high in their crystal seas, 
Warm were the arms of my lover. 

The winds sobbed sadly through the trees, 

Gray grew the skies all over; 
The stars trailed dim in their dingy seas, 

Strong were the arms of my lover. 

The winds swept weirdly through the trees, 

Dark drove the skies all over; 
The stars hid deep in their dismal seas, 

Firm were the arms of my lover. 

The winds shrieked wildly through the trees. 

Black beat the skies all over; 
My heart grew faint at the sight of these. 

Cold were the arms of my lover. 

The winds went down in the wounded trees. 

Blue bent the skies all over; 
The stars sailed high in their tear-swept seas. 

Over the grave of my lover. 



42 



THE SILENT BELL. 



€HERE stands within the shadows of the 
wood 
A chapel old and gray; 
No song nor sermon breaks its solitude — 
None gather there to pray. 

The clustering vines above the eaves close cling, 
Where sparrows brood their young; 

And all day long, with noisy chattering 
They pass their lives among. 

The mold has crept along the altar-rail, 

Where seekers sought to find 
The hope that anchors in the mystic sail 

Their future lives to bind. 

From out the paneless windows one can view 

The green and matted sward, 
Wild weeds and clover canopy the few 

Who sleep within the yard. 

And where the neighboring copse its shadows 
bend 

The gleams of light grow pale, 
The silence sobs, for on the whispering wind 

Is borne the night-bird's wail. 



43 



Within the belfry, crumbling to decay. 

Like some old sentry grand 
The bell that tolled the worshipers away 

Hangs silent on its stand. 

No more at morn to matins will it call, 

Nor evening vespers peal; 
At death nor marriage shall its tones e'er fall 

For future woe or weal. 

silent bell, no more the worshipers 

Shall heed thy silvery call! 
For there, slow yielding to the touch of years, 

I mark thy funeral pall. 

No tears of sorrow shall thy peals provoke 
When death stalks through the land; 

Nor shall again Love's plighted vows invoke 
Thy cold and palsied hand! 




TO A ROSEBUD. 



(From the fair hand of a lady friend.) 

OROSE bud, blushing crimson, 
I vow you Mush in vain! 
Her lips you ne'er can equal 
Nor their warm tints attain. 
How foolish and how futile 
The effort for to make— 
O rose bud, blushing crimson, 
I love you for her sake! 

rose bud, frail and fading, 
Could you a secret bear 

'Twould be this message to her, 
With her none can compare! 

How much I fondly love her 
I cannot solve the part — 

1 fain would be thee, rose bud, 
And die upon her heart. 



45 



LYRIC. 



8ING, robin sing, 
On the bosky beech; 
Bear my heart's offering, 
And her love beseech 
Tell her my sighing soul 

Lies languid at her feet — 
Troll, robin, troll! 
Sweet! sweet! sweet! 

Trill, robin, trill! 

Fan her breast aflame! 
Passion's dews instill. 

And breachy doubts betame. 
Rosebud lips are ripe 

For love's warm touch to prove 
Pipe, robin, pipe! 

Love! love! love! 

Flute, robin, flute! 

Surmount the fort of fears. 
And set a-tune my suit 

To the music of the spheres; 
And this the message bring: 

Her heart she doth resign — 
Sing, robin, sing! 

Mine! mine! mine! 



46 



SWEETHEART. TO YOU. 



OH, THE rose is red with the flush of life 
And fresh with the fragrant dew. 
But the fairest rose in all the world 
Is the rose of my love for you, 

Sweetheart, 
The rose of my love for you. 

The stars are bright that bedeck the height 

Of the bosom of the blue, 
But the brightest star in all the sky 

Is the star of my love for you. 

Sweetheart, 

The star of my love for you. 

The rose may fade and the stars may fall 

In the heavens from our view, 
But this shall never fade nor fail, 

And that is my love for you. 

Sweetheart, 

And that is my love for you! 



47 



WITH THEE 



X 



CARE not if the road is long, 

Or rugged rocks should hedge my way; 
I only know, what'er betide, 
Thy love shall be my strength and stay 



I care not if the breakers roar, 
And whitecaps burst beyond the bar, 

Or misty shadows intervene, 

Thine eyes shall be my guiding star. 

I care not if I'm tempest tossed. 
Nor care I for the chilling spray. 

If thy sweet face I know is near 
It will be sunshine all the way. 

I care not if the darkening clouds 
Should fall about me like a pall, 

So I but hold thee to my heart — 
My love, my life, my strength, my all! 



48 



THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER. 



^P^ HE cozy farm-house snugly stood 
^ J Beside the sun-besprinkled road; 

A trellised fence of whiteness glowed 
And wound down, dipping toward the wood. 
Before the house a stiff brigade 
Of stately maples spread their shade; 
Behind were orchards, fruited fine. 
And pastures filled with browsing kine. 

Fair honeysuckles swayed in sight, 
And flamed in honey-hearted flocks; 
And hammocked in the hollyhocks 
The bees held revels of delight. 
Tall, tawny tiger lilies gleamed, 
And blushing roses bowed and beamed; 
Along the walk the pink sweet-peas 
Held naughty conduct with the bees. 

With burnished throat of amethyst, 
Bough-hidden grouped a turtle dove, 
And longed low-cooing for its love 

That it, sad-hearted, moaned and missed. 

The insects gossiped boisterously. 

Carousing on a wildwood spree. 

Brim full of mutiny and lust, 

Gold-girdled with rich pollen dust. 



49 



Within the maple's leafy clouds 
The rain-crow cawed complainingly, 
And from the noisy hennery 
Young chickens scampered forth in crowds, 
And from her fair hands gulped their food, 
While she stood musing 'mong the brood, 
Her bare feet white as lily-down, 
Save where the sun had kissed them brown. 

A woodland-fluted song was borne 
Upon the languid, lisping breeze, 
A censer of sweet subtleties 

That musked the holy hours of morn. 

The dusky night dimmed down the dawn. 

The wild rose trailed a pallid gown; 

The dainty dewdrops held a glass 

To mirror her sweet loveliness. 

She merried where the clover mussed 
A pathway winding through the dell, 
And where she tripped her foot-falls fell 
Like rain-drops dimpling in the dust, 
Her lips twin rosebuds dipped in dew, 
Her eyes clear opals skyey blue; 
Her hair a friz of silken skeins, 
Dazzling glimmed with star-kiss stains. 



O maid, whose dainty, dimpled feet 
Plays hide-and-seek with clover blooms 
Whose hair is posied with perfumes 

Of wild rose bowers and hay-fields sweet. 

The brooklet laughs with wild delight 

To kiss your dimpled feet so light! 

The wild birds hush to hear you sing 

Whene'er you pass a-caroling. 



50 



THE CALL OF THE QUAIL. 



1HEAR him at morn when the sun's first ray 
Trembles across the eastern sky — 
From down in the field is borne his lay, 
Now low and trilling, now clear and high; 
Now high and clear, now soft and low— 
"The proud young corn begins to grow — 
Heigh-ho! 

Bob White! Bob White! 
Come, my love, for the day is bright." 



Where the reaper stands in the noon-day heat 

And gathers the amber sheaves in shocks, 
I hear him clutter from his retreat 

In the tangled mass of trembling stalks; 
'Mong the trembling stalks I hear a sound — 
"The golden grain glows all around, 

All around. 
Bob White! Bob White! 
Come to the grain, my heart's delight." 



51 



Where the sumacs flame in the sunnj- mead, 

And the grass is winnowed in waves of gold, 
The farm boy shouts, but he does not heed, 

For I hear him calling, still clear and bold) 
Still clear and bold, for he dees not fear — 
"The autumn days are drawing near, 
My dear! 

Bob White: Bob White! 
And then, sweetheart — ah, then good night!" 




GENEVA. 



I'VE sat beside the rippling rill 
And heard its low sweet measure 
As wandering down the woodland hill 
It limn'd its way at leisure. 
I've heard the bees hum low their lays 

As lazily o'er its flowing 
They linger'd in the sylvan maze 
To woo the flowers there growing. 

I've heard the breeze breathe low upon 

The sedges in the valleys, 
It seems Aola plays thereon 

As o'er the surge it sallies; 
And yet, Geneva, your sweet song 

Is sweeter far than any, 
Its cadances will linger long, 

Its silvery chords are many. 

Your dimpled hand awakes the strains 

That slumber in the lyre; — 
Not wind-waves o'er the golden grain 

Such tender tones inspire. 
And when the muse no more shall wreathe 

Your bonnie brow with flowers, 
The birds may well their carols cease. 

And sadness crepe the hours! 



53 



THE MAID AND THE ROSE. 



nER hair as dark as dimpled dusk 
Lightly veiled a milk-white arm; 
And from her sweet breath fragrance warm 
Floated a mellow musk. 



One fair cheek faintly flushing red 
Where some hot kiss had flashed a flame, 
Paled gently as the moonbeams came 

Tiptoeing by her bed. 

The quaintly-tangled counterpane 
But half concealed a snowy breast 
Where some stray rosebud may have pressed 

A warm and dainty stain. 

A luscious pink upon her lips 
Exquisitely as health can make, 
Nectared as sweet-williams make 

When the clear, cool dew drips. 

White-throated stars peeped through the spray 
Of daintily creepered panes to where 
She with limbs like thistle-fur 

In lily languor lay. 



Light-lidded sleep had wooed her well, 
And whispered love-dreams in her ears, 
Banishing all feverish fears 

In one sweet soothing spell. 

A wreath of rosebuds sought to bloom 
Within the meshes of her hair 
And on her brow so white and fair 

Exhaling rare perfume. 




55 



NOVEMBER. 



a PON the altar of the year 
There's scarcely now one living ember 
And all too soon its fading glow 
Will fade when enters rude December, 
The sumacs that, hard by the road, 

In triumph wave their scarlet banners. 
Too soon sad victims will become 
To winter's foul and fickle manners. 

The sportive crow has ceased his song. 

The saucy jay his noisy clatter; 
The brown-eyed wren alone pipes forth, 

And wonders what on earth's the matter! 
I note the wild geese, southward bound. 

With outstretched wings, in wedge-shaped 
column, 
As from the Northern lakes they soar, 

A-warbling lays in cadence solemn. 

Across the distant fields I hear 

The bleating sheep proclaim their sorrow, 
And wonder if their weak will die, 

Stabbed by the winds that blow tomorrow! 
From out the hedge-rows' winnowed leaves 

The shy-eyed rabbits dart from cover, 
While in the neighboring fodder shocks 

A troop of quail now snugly hover. 



56 



From all the woods there comes a voice 

Of changing hues and dying glory; 
And on the falling forest leaves 

We read with pain the pensive story 
Of birds, way-flown, and roses dead. 

And pinks heart-sick, and sobbing clover. 
That start upon their mystic voyage — 

But they'll come back when winter's over! 



57 



AUFWIEDERSEHN. 



HUFWIEDERSEH'N!" Oh, sweet farewell! 
Warm lips cling close, fond bosoms swell! 
And though our parting be with pain, 
Our hands, our hearts shall meet again 
In one long, lingering, loving spell! 

The joy of meeting will expel 
The fleeting clouds that o'er us dwell; 
Our love shall never wax or wane — 
'Aufwiederseh'n! " 

Though months may come and go — ah well, 
Our lips will be more hot to tell 

The story of our love's regain, 

And sing anew the fond refrain 
Of passion's anthem, that excel — 
'Aufwiederseh'n! " 



58 



THE DEAD FLOWER. 



1SAW upon a swaying stalk 
A fair flower feebly swinging; 
I stopped a moment in my walk 

And watched it closely clinging; 
I heard the North wind in the wood, 

I saw the flower's heart flutter; 
I stood in melancholy mood, 

Nor one word could I utter. 
But when I felt its chilling breath 

Draw nearer to the flower, 
I then cried pleadingly: "0 Death, 

Forego your cruel power!" 
I turned with tearful eyes away. 

And wept that hearts should sever; 
And when I looked again that way 

The flower had gone forever! 



59 



A CHRISTMAS EVE SCETCH. 



I. 
*WM\ ITHIN the grate the fire burns low; 
^^^^ The fading embers faintly glow; 

While over the house tops, hill and hollows 
The lengthening shadows deeper grow. 



11. 



The leafless rose tree bows its head, 

And sighs despondent for its dead; 

The night winds croon to the livid lilies 

That lie heart-broken in their bed. 



III. 

The pinks that blushed with timid fears. 
Lie moldering in their sepulchers; 
By the garden wall the shriveled ivy 
Bathes the cool ground with its tears. 



IV. 

A little girl with violet eyes 
Softly veiled in slumber lies; 
A black-backed cricket from a hidden corner 
Peeps out in big-eyed surprise. 



60 



V. 

Two little stockings idly swing; 
The little maid dreams a wondrous thing; 
Grayer grows the flickering embers, 
While the big-eyed cricket makes bold to sing. 



VI. 



A tiny team stands at the door; 
A stuffy form glides o'er the floor; 
Two little stockings are filled to bursting 
From good old Santa's wondrous store. 




61 



m 



ARABIS. 



HAT shall I say concerning love, 

Holding his part — 
His sweetness and all the ways thereof 
Heating the heart? 



How shall I soothe his wild desire 
That flames like a flood 

Of fervent unquenchable flre, 
Burning the blood? 

How shall I, who loves overmuch, 

Sunder love's bands, 
I who thrill at slightest touch. 

Kissing your hands? 



How shall I sing when sly love steals 

Every sweet note 
And every syllable conceals. 

Kissing your throat? 



How shall I escape love's net 
That 'round me slips 

When I have not strength to let, 
Kissing your lips? 



62 



I dreamed last night love came to me 

With lids drooping low, 
And whispered softly as could be, 

"Sweet, shall I go? 



"Nay, sweet love," I cried, "forego; 

Thou art my breath, 
My very life; should you hence, so 

Pray give me death. 

Here is a dagger with point keen, 

In these still hours 
So take and drive deep between 

My white breast flowers. 



Nor shall I wince; nay, rather I 

Shall feel a delight; 
Take life and all, for I will die — 

Sweet love kills light. 

Lie close, I would be slain like this. 

If death be so; 
Dear love, how sweet to die it is — 

Kiss me and go! 



63 



WHEN JULIA SMILES. 



'fM \ HEN JULIA smiles the radiant rose 
^^^^ Its richest, rarest tint bestows; 

The phlox peeps shyly from its bed 
The sky grows bluer overhead, 
The pink a deeper color shows. 

The pebble where the brooklet flows 
Just like an opal cluster grows 

When softest lights are on it shed, 
When Julia smiles. 

It seems to me the shy thrush knows, 

And fain its sweetest song foregoes. 
Awaiting anxiously instead 
The aureoles that round her spread 

And lights the way where'er she goes. 

When Julia smiles! 



64 



SANS FACON. 



€HE rich red rose whose radiant cheek 
Is turned toward the shimmering sun; 
The languid lily, wan and weak. 
That wanes where rippling waters run; 
The sun-flecked fields of golden grain, 

The dimpled downs, the towering trees, 
The soft light, lingering on the plain — 
I see God's face in all of these! 

The sad heart's sigh, the baby's coo, 

The shout of children in their play; 
The boy's gay, boisterous, glad halloo. 

The toiler's song upon the way; 
The wind-waves booming on the hill. 

The wild bird's carol in the trees. 
The low soft laughter of the rill— 

I hear God's voice in all of these! 



65 



ROUGH HANDS. 



fOLD her hands over her breast. 
Hands that never knew rest, 
That toiled from morning till night. 
That other hands might be white. 

They never were cabined in kid, 
They never by diamonds were hid; 
Nor strayed over ivory keys, 
These strangers to seasons of ease. 

Once they were soft as the streams 
That flow through the garden of dreams 
And clapped in glee at the wild 
Musical mirth of the child. 

Poor wan hands that willingly strove 
To scatter the roses of love 
Over paths that others have pressed. 
We fold you to a revel of rest. 



66 



INDIANA. 



^^TO fairer fields, no clearer streams, 

I ^ Where sunlight smiles and moonlight beams, 
/ No broader strips of mead and mere, 
No mornings elsewhere break as clear; 
No brighter stars in shimmering skies- 
Like tears in some sweet woman's eyes — 
No clearer dewdrops on the lawn, 
No fairer flowers to look upon, 
Than has old Indiana! 

From widening fields of waving corn 
A glad and lusty shout is borne; 
It is the shout of harvesters, 
As daylight softly disappears. 
Sing on! sing on! O harvesters! 
And gather in the golden ears; 
For after toil there comes a rest- 
Then happy hearts are happiest, 
In good, old Indiana! 



67 



WHEN JIM COMES HOME AT NIGHT. 



I 



T MATTERS not how dark may be the day, 

The shadows take their flight 
An' everything is gayety our way 
When Jim comes home at night. 



The children hear his footsteps at the door, 

An' scamper with delight, 
For well they know there's happiness in store 

When Jim comes home at night. 

He jist th'ows down his ol' cap over there, 

An' laughs with all his might; 
He's never tired an' never seems to care 

When he comes home at night. 

Why Jim, you know, is my big manly boy, 

The oldest of our brood; 
The children's idol an' a mother's joy — 

So noble, true an' good. 

Throughout the day Jim speeds along the track 

An' holds the throttle tight; 
He never fails to bring his engine back 

When falls the shades of night. 



63 



Sometimes in fancy I see him on the plain 

A racin' with the wind. 
An' then I pray to hear his rumblin' train 

When evenin' shadows blend. 

Some day it may be — no, it shall not be — 

I shudder with affright — 
A broken rail — oh, God, no! let us see 

Jim come home every night. 




69 



WHEN THE TREES ARE GREEN. 



(By a Home-Sick Farmer.) 

I'VE been scrouged up in the town so long 
Where there's nothin' but fuss and smoke, 
That my heart seems so all cobwebbed o'er 
That I feel just like I'd choke. 
I'm hungry to see the red buds bloom, 

And hear the catbird's note — 
I want to get out in the woods an' yell 
Till I almost bu'st my throat! 

They hain't one speck of enjoyment 

In all this noise for me; 
You look at the houses an' tramp an' tramp, 

An' that's about all you see. 
I want to git out where the ellum trees 

Stretch over the ground a bit, 
An' lay in the shade an' sprawl aroun' 

Till I take a canipshun fit. 

I want to catch through the mapul leaves 

A glimpse of the deep blue skies, 
An' laugh at the bluejays in the trees 

A-shyin' their roguish eyes. 
I want to watch along the sky 

The lazy buzzards float. 
An' lay on the grass an' yell, an' yell 

Till I almost bu'st my throat! 



70 



IT DON'T SEEM LIKE THE SAME OLD PLACE 



€ODAY I visited again the scenes of long ago, 
Where we used to sit together, you and I, 
And watch the sun descending and the gold- 
en afterglow, 
As it paled and softly faded from the sky. 
Fond memory brought the old times back while 
sitting there alone, 
But I sadly missed your sweet, familiar face; 
And since the fondest, fairest flower of all the spot 
is gone 
It don't seem like the same old place. 

CHORUS. 

I plucked a rosebud from the tree, and, standing 
there alone, 
I sadly missed your sweet, familiar face; 
And since the fondest, fairest flower of all the spot 
is gone. 
It don't seem like the same old place. 



The brooklet in the meadow over glist'ning peb- 
bles purled. 
The daisies every pathway frayed and frilled; 
The crimson-belted columbine its orange flag un* 
furled, 
While the roses in the garden fragrance spilled, 

71 



The tawny tiger-lilies waved their plumes above 
the way, 
The honeysuckles spread their netted lace; 

And while the flowers bloomed everywhere in col- 
ors bright and gay. 

It don't seem like the same old place. 

I kept thinking of the time we strolled beyond the 
meadow-bars. 
And I held your little dimpled hand in mine, 
And standing there together, sweet, beneath the 
silent stars, 
We listened to the lowing of the kine; 
And bashfully I stole a kiss that trembled on your 
lips. 
And drank the sweet contentment of your face; 
But the meadow-bars have been removed by old 
Time's finger tips, 
And it don't seem like the same old place. 



72 



JOHN GILBERT SHANiaiN. 



(At Evansville, Ind., Aug. 6, 1903.) 

OH PRINCELY hand, lay down the pen, 
For ye have wrought full well, 
And as becometh knightly men 
Now rest ye, rest ye well. 

Ye ne'er fought false, but steel to steel. 

Nor struck but at the face; 
Your heart was noble and could feel 

For all the human race. 

But hearts though great must cease to beat, 

And hands must palsied be; 
But truth shall never know defeat 

In God's eternity! 

So, princely hand, lay down the pen, 

For ye have wrought full well. 
And as becometh knightly men 

Now rest ye, rest ye well. 



73 



TO A HOOSIER BYRD. 



(October 1, 1903.) 

TOUR pardon, Rxxxy, if I should 
Upon your precious time intrude, 
Nor deem me altogether rude 
And diabolic, 
I fain would break upon your mood 

In ways bucolic. 
And when I take my pen in hand 
To drop you just a few lines and 
To tell you that in all this land 

Or any other 
There's none I love more, understand, 

I mean it, rather. 
Now, pause, sir, for just one minute 
(If you have time and I can win it) 
And scan this screed — there's little in it 

As you'll agree 
And yet, though roughly penned, I mean it 
Sincerely. 



74 



I've read your book through more or less 

About a dozen times, I guess. 

"Home Folks" — them folks suits me jis 

To a gnat's bristle — 
Women's lips jis made to kiss 

An' men's to whistle. 
Along the country avenues 
I've met 'em swarmin' in whole slews, 
Dressed up in togs that beat the jews 

Out o' creation — 
An' jis to hear their "howdydoos" 

Is inspiration! 
An' when the circus comes to town 
I see 'em santerin' up an' down 
With many a sly an' snickerin' soun' 

That's sorter funny, 
An' watch the young bloods wheedlin' roun' 

An' blowin' money. 



La, how they take to lemonade! 
The picnic kind — the lowest grade. 
An' 'bout the durndest stuff that's made 

Of which there's mention, 
An' yet they gulp it unafraid, 

With good intention. 
Where'er them home folks chance to be 
My greetings an' most heartily! 
No others have such charms for me, 

I mean it, really; 
No others love so royally. 

An' none more freely. 
O dreamer, dreamin' of the days 
Of home folks an' their homely ways. 
Sing on your soulful songs of praise! 

Right well we love 'em. 
An' all who read your lilting lays 

With cheer approve 'em. 



75 



IN A MINOR KEY 



THREE LITTLE MONKEYS. 



Ilk lyONKEY, monkey, bottle o' beer, 
I y I How many monkeys are there here? — 
/ A tow head boy of very small size, 

And eyes the color of May day skies; 
A coat so short it will hardly do. 
And breeches torn where the knee peeps through; 
A face begrimed, but with lots of space 
For the joyous smile that lights his face. 



A little girl with a heart to win. 

As light as the tones of a violin; 

Eyes nut-brown, and oh, so clear! 

And braids the color of a chestnut burr; 

A raggedy gown of calico. 

Caught at the throat with a faded bow; 

A brow snow-white where falls her curls 

And a laugh that is worth ten thousand worlds! 



A chubby babe with a crowing voice 

That haunts the house with its prattling noise; 

Four little toothies white as snow — 

Two above and two below; 

Plump round arms and wee, cute toes, 

And cheeks as soft as a velvet rose! 

Monkey, monkey, bottle o' beer, 

Three little monkeys are there here! 



79 



PRINCESS GOOGLYGOO. 



I. 

SING heigho! for the merry maid, 
With nut-brown eyes of dusk, 
And many a night-robed silken braid, 
Amint with May day musk! 
Sing for her twin pouting lips, 
Like June-drunk roses red, 
That tremble when the sly bee sips 
The honey from their bed! 

II. 

Sing heigho! for the lawny light 

That lurks in her dark eyes. 
Soft as the whispering of some sprite 

That to the rose heart sighs! 
Eyes aswim with their languid lush, 

And lips with love alilt, 
And cheeks with the faintest flame aflush 

Where the blood of the rose is spilt. 

III. 

Sing heigho! for her winsome ways! 

Sing for her heart so true! 
For her downy chin where a dimple plays; 

For her gladsome googlygoo! 
Sing for her neck as white as milk 

Flame-stained with sudden glows. 
And Hebe-like arms as soft as silk, 

And her saucy wee-pug nose! 



PAT-A-CAKE. 



PAT-A-CAKB, pat-a-cake, ye baker's man, 
Coo, little dimpledown, loud as you can! 
Cheeks like red roses, kissed by the sun, 
Eyes running over in a blue wave of fun! 
Tresses all atousle in shimmering skeins, 
Lips kiss-inviting with strawberry stains! 
Arms all adimple and cheeks all aglow 
Like two velvet roses half-hidden in snow! 
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, ye baker's man. 
Coo, little peachycheek, loud as you can! 
Up the hill, down the hill, don't we fly though — 
In a coach of calico, just watch us go! 
Hold to the ribbons and watch the steed fly 
Like gray streaks of dawn that leap through the 

sky! 
Now for a jolly spin, fast as we can — 
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, ye baker's man! 



81 



WINK-A-WAY LAND. 



COME, little one, cuddle your head on my 
breast, 
And we'll go to fair Wink-a-way Land 
Where the flowers bloom ever 
And sorrow comes never — 
So close tight your wee dimpled hand, 

Heigh-ho! 
So close tight your wee dimpled hand. 

There's oranges and candy and everything nice, 
And streets paved with jewels most grand; 
So just shut your eyes. 
It will take but a trice 
Till we enter fair Wink-a-way Land, 

Heigh-ho! 
Till we enter fair Wink-a-way Land. 

There Christmas trees bloom on the Fourth of July, 
And there's Thanksgiving pies on demand; 
Away we will go 
On the Shut Eye train, so! 
To the beautiful Wink-a-way Land, 

Heigh-ho! 
To the beautiful Wink-a-way Land, 



82 



It snows barrels of pop-corn and rains lemonade, 
And bananas till you scarcely can stand; 
So cuddle as snug 
As a bug in a rug 
And we'll soon be in Wink-a-way Land, 

Heigh-ho! 
We'll soon be in Wink-a-way Land. 



Ah, now then we're going! The road is quite short! 
We follow the Dream-a-way band; 
We've entered it certain — 
Close softly the curtain — 
An hour in fair Wink-a-way Land, 

Heigh-ho! 
Hurrah for Wink-a-way Land! 




83 



BYE-LO-TOWN. 



OH, Byc-lo-town is the prettiest town 
That ever one's eyes did see — 
At least had you seen it when I did 
You'd quite agree with me, 
With its row of houses snug and neat. 
And the sunlight dancing in the street. 

The stores all stocked with the best of nuts 

And apples, all blushing red. 
And candy sticks striped as^ heart could wish, 

Piled high up as your head; 
And you could get them all as quick as a wink 
Simply for the asking, just to think! 

And music — oh the charmingest airs! 

I still can hum them well; 
They seemed to float like a silvery note 

From some sweet vesper bell; 
And when the last notes I could trace 
A dreamy mist fell o'er the place. 

It's been long years since I was there. 

Years of sorrow a store, 
And my eyes grow misty when I think 

Of Bye-lo-town of yore; 
For it's a wonderful town as you'll agree 
When visited on mother's knee! 



84 



CUDDLEDOWNVILLE 



CUDDLEDOWNVILLE is a curious place 
That lies in Lullaby valley, 
With its picturesque, shady Pattycake street 
And its rambling Rockaby alley. 
If you want to see the queerest folk 

In all the whole creation 
Just take a coach on the choo-choo road 
By way of Winkum station. 

It lies on the border of Dreamland, 

At the mouth of drowsy river, 
And it's so quiet throughout the night 

That hardly the eyelids quiver. 
In arms as soft as thistledown, 

Against a heart most tender, 
You dream the grandest dreams, oh, my! 

With not a thing to hinder. 



It's the finest health resort I know 

For eyes that are weary, aching; 
For men whose hands are tired with toil 

And women's hearts that are breakini 
The gentle swaying of the trees. 

The hammocks hanging under. 
The music of the June bug band 

Are certainly a wonder. 



85 



So, all aboard the choo-choo train 

And have your parcels ready, 
For Droopylids, the baggage man, 

Is just a bit unsteady. 
And now, heigh-ho! a\yay we go 

Right on through Winkum station, 
And soon we'll be the happiest folk 

In all the blessed nation. 




THE BUMPTOWN PIKE. 



aP THE hill this way! Down the hill that! 
Sing heigh-ho, baby, we are going! 
Coo, little downy-cheek, where are we at? 
Soon, droopy-lids, we'll be knowing. 
Old Bumptown pike is not a bad road; 

It runs through vales cool and shady; 
The calico team can carry all the load, 
So, cuddle down snug, little lady! 



Down the lane this way, 'neath the tall sumacs. 

Listen to the meadow-lark singing! 
The bell-flowers bloom in yonder brushy brakes, 

Where the blue-eyed violets are springing! 
The field-sparrow chirps as we wander up the hill. 

The dewdrops on the leaves glisten; 
I'll bet five dollars we can ford Noddy Rill — 

Sing heigh-ho, little one listen! 

Squirrels in the leafy woods, mamma get you one; 

Hear them gathering nuts in the beeches; 
Lazy old St. Lazarus dancing in the sun, 

Everywhere the blue sky reaches. 
When we get to Bumptown won't we have a time? 

Candy-paved streets all a-glowing; 
Swinging on the pearly gates, listen to the chime 

Of the fairy music a-flowing. 



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Lie still, drowsy-head, you're in the heart of town; 

The pike lies away back yonder; 
The calico team is nearly jaded down; 

How it can stand it, I wonder! 
So, ho, pinky-cheek, what a pretty place! 

Fit for a fairy princess's bower; 
Bright the landscape as an angel's face — 

You can stay here, precious, for an hour! 




i-.cfC. 



THE SWEET LITTLE LADY. 



€ HERE'S a sweet little lady that lives down 
the street, 
A creature more charming you never did 
meet; 
I almost grow dizzy at the flash of her eye, 
And her cheeks are like roses, oh my! 

Oh, my! 
The rarest of roses, oh, my! 

Her lips are like rubies on which the light gleams; 
Her hair is a shower of golden sunbeams; 
Her wee, tiny ears are like shells of the sea 
And her chin has a dimple, oh, me! 

Oh, me! 
The cutest you ever did see! 

She dresses in silks, in satins and pearls, 

And her bangs are the daintiest and loveliest of 

curls; 
They cluster quite charmingly down on a brow 
That is white as her linen, I vow! 

I vow! 
As white as her linen, I vow! 

You'd give, oh, so much, if this lady you knew. 
And could hear her low musical googly-goo-goo! 
Her voice is low as the coo of a dove- 
Is the voice of this lady I love! 

I love! 
The sweet little lady I love! 



89 



THE LADY FROM LAPLAND. 



SHE is wayward, capricious and willful, 
But sunny and simple and sweet; 
Wholly artless, yet in strategy skillful 
For seldom she meets with defeat. 
She thrills with a touch of a finger, 

She enthralls with a glance of an eye; 
When she smiles you languish and linger, 
When she pouts you sadden and sigh. 



Her eyes are as soft and as sunny 

As the sky where the sunlight breaks through 
And her laugh — it's exceedingly funny 

To hear her say googly-goo-goo ! 
Her lips outrival the cherry 

That's dipped in the dew of the dawn; 
Of her smile you never grow weary, 

For it's food to freshen upon. 



Her hair is a shower of arrows, 

Shot from the bow of the sun; 
Her brow in its beauteousness borrows 

The soft tints the lily had done. 
Her cheeks are two radiant June roses. 

Caressed by the dimpling breeze; 
Her smile, like a sunbeam, discloses 

The rarest pearls ever one sees. 



90 



Under the green and the gray leaf 

We hold her of heaven a part, 
And with wreath of the roseleaf and the bayleaf 

We crown her the queen of the heart, 
This lady of very high station, 

With manners surpassingly shy, 
From Lapland, a wonderful nation, 

That lies on the sea of Shuteye. 




91 



SLUMBER SONG. 



LIE still! my little dimpledown, 
Your pinky feet stop tossing; 
We'll take the train for Slumber Town 
Right here at Drowsy crossing. 
I heard the whistle long ago 
Just up at Napper Station; 
It's coming in a wink or so, 
Or I miss my calculation. 

The track is ballasted, you see, 

In just the nicest manner; 
The palace cars, as you'll agree, 

Are pretty as a banner. 
The road is level as a die, 

You hardly feel a motion; 
It's smoother traveling, by the by. 

Than it is on Noddy's ocean. 

O ho! we fly through Winkyville 

As swiftly as a swallow. 
And soon we'll be, if you'll lie still, 

In the heart of Dreamy Hollow. 
We've passed the village of Shuteye, 

We're entering Slumber Station; 
And now, sweet, baby, lullaby! 

We've reached our destination. 



92 



FINALE. 



m/i.S I listen to the languid ^ 
^^ Low, soft, lilting strains of music 
From the soul of the old fiddle 
Falling on the ear of fancy , 
How imagination kindles 
To a flame the flickering embers 
That are heaped upon the hearth-stone 
Of the days of the departed. 
And again I hear fair Dinah 
On the direful plains of Canaan 
Pleading for her princely lover 
Who had pledged his troth unto her. 



93 



And I hear Delilah's laughter 
In the valley of old Sorek, 
Low and liquid as the brooklet's 
Purling o'er the tangled pebbles, 
As she nestles on the bosom 
Of her great and goodly master 
Worming all his secrets from him, 
That she could the better spoil him. 
While she bruised her downy bosom 
With the mighty men ofGa:{a» 
And again I hear Aholah 
Lithe and lustful lewd-blown lily . 



94 



From the tents of old Samaria 

zAs she sounds the silvery sackbut 

'Mid the Sabeans assembled 

In a revel run to madness 

With its drunken fools and frolics. 

Take them with their faults and follies. 

And their many loves and longings, 

Take the little, simple lyrics 

Of the laughing days of childhood. 

May they please you for a season 

With their play ful little prattles. 



95 



UtC a - 1903 



